


First Encounter

by saeriibon



Category: Ace Combat
Genre: bandog/trigger if you squint really really really hard
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-30
Updated: 2020-11-30
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:00:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27804196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saeriibon/pseuds/saeriibon
Summary: yo what's up. i'm saeriibon and i like writing fics where literally nothing happens.maybe subconsciously i just wanted an excuse to write bandog being an asshole more...*dr. coomer voice* i miss him everyday 😔
Kudos: 1





	First Encounter

_ Clang, clang. _

‘ _ What a pain in the ass… _ ’

_ Clang, clang. _

Another day of drawing the short straw, another day of patrolling the cell block in the unforgiving heat of Zapland. As if springtime wasn’t bad enough, the midsummer haze seemed to seep into everything, especially the poorly ventilated hallway, lined with cramped and dusty cells housing all manner of scum that Osea managed to drag up.

_ Clang, clang. _

“Can you cut that out already? Tryna sleep here for fuck’s sake...” One of the prisoners voiced their complaints at the baton that Bandog was dragging along the cell bars as he idly paced down the hall.

Bandog grumbled and made an effort to hit one of the bars louder than before, “It’s noon,” he retorted. “If you want to sleep so badly then wait until it’s lights out, idiot.” When he got no reply, he continued, smirking to himself. ‘ _ Serves them right. _ ’

_ Clang, clang. _

He only managed to get a brief moment of satisfaction before tired annoyance set in again. It was always the same. Idle days with only the occasional bit of action whenever the base got bombed, and even then, no one seemed to really care. No one should, honestly. Caring about anything in a place like this is bound to drive anyone insane.

_ Clang, clang. _

There was, however, a unique buzz around the 444th regarding one of its recent inmates. Something about a rookie pilot murdering the ex-president, Vincent Harling, during a botched rescue operation at the International Space Elevator. Bandog looked up at the numbers stenciled above each cell that he passed.

12…

_ Clang, clang. _

13…

_ Clang, clang. _

14…

_ Clang, clang. _

15…

Bandog stopped. Instead of using the cot provided like most of the other prisoners, the person in this cell seemed to be sitting on the floor, knees pulled up and arms wrapped around himself, head tucked down as he wedged his body in the corner of the cell’s door and wall. It almost reminded Bandog of those pictures of animals abandoned in shelters, huddled up and miserable. He honestly didn’t know what he expected this person to be, maybe a mix between Champ and Tabloid, but the air he gave off felt far from “violent anarchist.”  _ This _ was the high-profile prisoner everyone has been talking about? 

Bandog harshly clanged his baton like before, but it didn’t elicit any response, not even a flinch, from the new prisoner. Was he asleep too?

Bandog crouched, sliding the baton between the bars to firmly poke him. Still nothing. He sighed.

Looking at him closely now, he seemed pretty scrawny in comparison to the other prisoners. The few bits of skin he could see were pale, likely from being stuck in a dark room for most of the time and malnutrition. Whatever short haircut he had was beginning to grow out haphazardly in smooth, black locks. Even his breathing was faint, if he was breathing at all. It was almost as if he could fade away at any moment, like a ghost.

Curious, Bandog tucked his baton under his other arm and reached out through the bars, half-expecting his hand to pass right through him despite having just disproved that with the baton. Instead, his fingers met soft hair, brushing over the curve of his ear...

The figure suddenly shifted, and Bandog was met with an intense blue gaze that seemed to freeze him in place. In a way, it was the same kind of blue that Bandog would catch a glimpse of outside of the cockpit of his E-2, like a piece of the sky itself was cut out. Bandog shook his head, releasing himself from his stupor and promptly pulled his hand back. 

The prisoner didn’t move or speak, seemingly content with just watching, which was a little unnerving. Bandog, in turn, was also at a loss for words. For some reason, it’s always the quiet ones that are the hardest to handle. It’s not like he could discipline or reprimand him considering the fact that he wasn’t doing anything wrong, and that partially pissed Bandog off.

Outside of the barred window of the cell, the sound of a jet engine revving immediately shifted the prisoner’s attention away from Bandog as he focused on the window.

Bandog breathed out a quiet sigh of relief as the prisoner shakily rose to his feet and shuffled towards the window, having to stand on the tips of his toes to see past its ledge.

Now that he was up and about, Bandog hoped he’d actually  _ do _ something, anything, to break the awkward silence between them, but there he stood, unmoving yet again, in front of the window. Bandog grumbled to himself and ran his fingers through his hair.

As a kind of “warden” to the prisoners at the base, establishing a first impression is necessary to keep newcomers in check. It’s easy to establish dominance over skittish and cocky prisoners through brute force, but this one was far different from anyone Bandog had ever met.

_ ‘Maybe not a ghost… He’s more like an alien. Huh, now  _ that’s _ some material I can actually work with.’ _

“Ground control to Major Tom,” Bandog mocked as he clanged his baton against the cell door again, slowly dragging the prisoner’s attention back to him, “Get your head out of the clouds, Spare 15. You’ll have plenty of time to see the sky once you start atoning for your crimes.” Satisfied with finally getting a word in, Bandog was about to leave before he heard a faint, whispering sound come from inside the cell.

“What did you just say?” Bandog squinted.

The prisoner shifted his body weight from one foot to another before speaking again, voice raspy from disuse, but youthful, “You called me ‘Major’ when, technically speaking, I’m a second lieutenant here… Also, my name is not ‘Tom’ either…”

Bandog pinched the bridge of his nose, ‘ _ There is no way he can actually be _ this  _ stupid.’ _ “It was a joke, dumbass.”

“Sorry, I didn’t know… I thought jokes were supposed to be funny.”

‘ _ The nerve of this brat… _ ’ Bandog felt a vein in his temple pop, “Are you patronizing me?”

“You were patronizing me first, so it’s only fair…” He sounded genuinely convinced of this which made Bandog scoff.

“People like you lost the right to talk about “fairness” as soon as they committed their crimes.” He watched the prisoner blink and look away, muttering something under his breath, although he couldn’t quite catch what was said, Bandog couldn’t be bothered to press the issue any further. “Keep acting like that and see where it gets you, Spare 15.” With those words he finally left with that familiar silence from before following him.

Even though Bandog managed to get his mood back to some semblance of how it normally was, that whole encounter was disconcerting, to say the least. Although he expected to get a better read on the new guy upon meeting him, he was left with more questions than answers. ‘ _ There’s something about that one… _ ’ Bandog wasn’t entirely sure what that “something” was, specifically, but the thought haunted him. ‘ _ Well, whatever. All that matters is that he does what he’s told once he gets thrown up in the air, right?’ _ He tried to assuage his feelings of apprehension, going back to tapping his baton on the cell bars as he walked.

_ “People like you lost the right to talk about “fairness” as soon as they committed their crimes.”  _

Those words continued to echo in Trigger’s head. He wasn’t pathetic enough to grovel in front of anyone who would listen, begging and pleading that he was innocent, but it still bothered him to be so easily labelled as a murderer, a traitor to his country, some rookie that was given too much slack on his leash, all in the blink of an eye. Trigger had half the mind to bite that man when he touched him, a part of him wished he still did, but he figured it would be for the better if he behaved.

‘ _ Not like that would change anything, though _ .’

He slumped onto his cot, gazing at the thin strips of blue that peeked into his cell. They didn’t taunt his freedom, no. That blue was solace.

He instinctively clasped his hands in front of his stomach like how he would hold his flight stick, a small comfort in an otherwise stifling environment.

_ Clang, clang. _

That distant, metallic sound reached his ears again.  _ ‘Oh, right. That guy… Who was he? He was wearing a flight suit unlike the other guards I’ve seen… I couldn’t catch the name on his name tag… There was also that shield emblem… Was he a pilot too?’ _ Trigger shuddered at the thought of having to fly alongside someone like him, alongside  _ anyone _ really, especially now.

His hands tightened around each other, ' _ No, I just have to grit my teeth and bear with it until…' _ Until when? He sighed and laid his body down, ' _ It doesn't matter…' _

He didn't feel lonely, being naturally predisposed to isolation, but for the first time in a long while he just felt empty. There was a small sort of spark when that man visited, but it was gone now. He absent-mindedly touched the side of his head that the man had earlier. ' _ I kind of wish I got his name, now… He kind of reminded me of a dog, or at least his eyes did… Icy blue, like a husky's or something. Definitely not as nice and fluffy as one, though. Hmm… fluffy…'  _ Trigger yawned, succumbing to heat-induced lethargy and mental images of cute dogs and the open sky.

‘ _ Maybe if I take a quick nap I’ll feel a little better…’ _

_ Clang, clang. _

‘ _ Or… maybe not.’ _

**Author's Note:**

> i think it's hilarious that i write the smut fic first and then this one over a month later. sometimes it be like that ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯


End file.
